A Time of Confidences
by CaptAcorn
Summary: A very post-Endgame friendship story with Tom Paris and Kathryn Janeway. P/T with hints C/7, J/C, and J/7. Rated T for language.


**Author's note** : As always, many, many thanks to two talented women, **Sareki02** and **Photogirl1890,** for their assistance in making this suitable for posting (they both have kick ass WIP's - start getting excited). This story is tied into some of my others, but you don't have to read them to understand it. However, if you want to, it would make me super happy. The last chapter of _Simple Tricks of Light_ takes place about nine months after this story and will explain what's up with Harry. _Never Look a Gift Talaxian in the Mouth_ expands on the Janeway and Paris friendship during their years on Voyager. Lastly, as I haven't mentioned it in a while - I don't own these characters, I'm just using them to entertain myself in my spare time (and I hope some of you, too!). Extra lastly, I think I'm naming my next dog Lonzak.

* * *

Tom Paris squinted up at the grey, drizzly sky and hit the door buzzer again. He _knew_ she was home. When there was still no answer, he tried entering the security code she'd given him for emergencies.

"Code invalid. Access denied."

"Oh, for God's sake." He peered through one of the narrow windows that framed her front door and thought he caught a flash of movement. Lacking another option, he resorted to the old-fashioned method of pounding his fist against the door. "I know you're in there, you old harpy! Let me in! It's raining!"

The door cracked open within seconds to reveal the irritated visage of one Admiral (ret.) Kathryn Janeway. "'Old harpy', Mr. Paris?"

Tom grinned. "You haven't called me 'Mr. Paris' since you gave me my pip back. And I got you to open the door, didn't I?"

His former captain stepped away from the door with a deep frown, allowing Tom admittance. He hung up his damp coat and hat and massaged his arthritic hands, particularly sore given the miserable weather and his aggressive knocking. He sighed as he looked around. Her place was a mess. There were coffee-stained mugs, half empty dishes, and PADDs and books on nearly every surface; a pile of rumpled clothing took over half the sofa. "When was the last time you let the housekeeper in? Or your health aide?" he asked, frowning back at her.

"I gave them the weekend off." She stalked off towards the back of her expansive one-story home, her cane beating a steady tattoo on the wooden floors.

"Locked them out, is more like it," Tom called after her as he collected the various bits of dinnerware strewn about the sitting room. "Annika is worried about you. You haven't returned any of her messages."

"Oh?" Janeway said, pausing in her retreat but not turning her head. "So Seven's the one that sent you to come check on me? I assumed it was the Doctor."

 _Seven? The Doctor?_ She was in rare form today. Tom decided to go after the safer target. "You know he prefers us to call him Leonard now."

"You never call him Leonard," she parried as she turned to face him.

"Ah," Tom said with a wink as he deposited a stack of her dirty plates and cups in the 'fresher. "But he expects me to be a jerk. That's our thing." He moved towards where she stood just outside the kitchen area and leaned against the wall. "Annika may have been the one that contacted me, but we're all worried. The Doc, B'Elanna… Harry."

The last name got the reaction he'd been aiming for. Janeway's expression softened. "How is he?"

"Hanging in there. I'd be happy to bring you to see him if you want."

"I'm not an invalid," she snapped, knuckles whitening against the handle of her cane. "I can get into the city on my own."

"And yet, you don't." He cocked his head to the side. "You can stop with the famed Janeway glare, by the way. It hasn't intimidated me in years."

That was a lie. His life might span nearly eight decades, and she might not have even the tiniest bit of power over him anymore, but still - one pissed-off look from Kathryn Janeway and Tom's spine involuntarily straightened (as much as was possible at this point). But she didn't need to know that.

She pursed her lips. "Well, since you came all this way, in the rain… I suppose you might as well stay for coffee." Janeway started to move down the hallway. "There's cups and a thermos above the replicator. I'll be in my office."

"The Doc told me you were supposed to give up coffee."

This time, she didn't bother to even slow her pace. "Well, _Leonard_ isn't here, is he?"

Tom shook his head with a grin. "Yes, ma'am. Coffee coming right up."

It took some time to convince her replicator to make the coffee the way he knew she liked it. _Seriously, what does she_ do _to these things?_ He added a few pastries and fruit to the tray, concerned that her chasing off the health aide and the housekeeper translated to her not eating enough, before tracing her steps down the hallway.

It was long and windowless, the walls painted a stark white. There had been two houses, decades earlier, when then-Vice Admiral Janeway first acquired the property. An airy guest house with picture windows that now looked onto a deceptively well-tended garden - native perennials and bushes interspersed with flagstones pavers, their branches and leaves tended just enough to allow visitors to pass but not so much that their wildness was overly tamed. The hallway had been built to join it to the larger ocean-facing structure in the back - what had once been the main house, but now housed the bedrooms and her office.

Although office was an odd term for the space - the word, in Tom's mind, conjuring up images of something cozy and dark. Janeway's office was massive - far bigger than the sitting room in the front - with a wall comprised entirely of windows that looked out past the wooden deck, over the cliffs, and onto the Pacific Ocean.

But the hallway. That was something else entirely. No one visited Admiral Janeway's home without spending some time in it. On one wall was an impressive collection of art, all having been impeccably lit and curated by the captain's sister, Phoebe - an original Chagall from the early twentieth century, two pieces by the Vulcan master T'Vel, and a triptych of paintings by Phoebe herself. The opposite wall, though, was the one that always held Tom's interest. It held a vast collage of photos. No holopics, not a single image that was even in color - just dozens of black and white prints that spanned the decades of Kathryn Janeway's life.

He found something new every time he looked at it. There was no discernible order to the images. A picture of the young Katie Janeway in pigtails with her father was hung next to one of Harry Kim's promotion ceremony to captain. Naomi's first birthday party neighbored a group shot from the last reunion Tuvok had been able to attend. He smiled at one of himself, cooing at his tiny infant son - a son that now had a half dozen centimeters on him.

That's when he spotted it. She'd done some rearranging since he was last here a few months ago. Where once had hung a photo of _Voyager_ 's senior staff at Neelix's inaugural celebration of 'Ancestors' Eve,' Janeway had placed a more intimate photo.

She was dressed to the nines - for a formal event Tom didn't recall or perhaps didn't even attend - a metallic sheath with fabric that clung and rippled over her body, her hair pinned up in a far softer fashion than she'd ever worn as captain. It was a candid shot - she clearly hadn't realized it was being taken. Janeway's head was thrown back, her mouth opened wide in a laugh, her champagne flute dangerously tilted. It couldn't have been more than a year or two after their return to the Alpha Quadrant.

The man making her laugh with such abandon was Chakotay.

Tom looked away from the photo, surprised by the lump that had formed in his throat. It's not like they'd ever been close. True, the two men had come a long way from their first meeting in that bar on Quatal Prime - Chakotay desperate for someone that could tell the thruster controls from the navigational array; Tom freshly released from his latest freighter job for intoxication. But lack of animosity didn't automatically translate to intimacy, and Tom mostly knew what had gone on in the other man's life because of Chakotay's relationship with B'Elanna.

"What's taking you so long? It'll be cold by the time you get here."

Tom blinked and cleared his throat before answering the glowering woman that stood waiting for him at the other end of the corridor. "Then you've got yourself a crappy thermos."

They settled in front of the wall of windows, where they could watch the crashing surf pound the jagged rocks below. She took a long sip of her coffee, closing her eyes as she savored the taste. "This is why I keep you around, Mr. Paris. Your talent for making a decent cup of coffee."

"Again with the 'Mr. Paris'," he remarked, nudging a pastry towards her. "Eat something, will ya? I can almost see through you."

"Not all of us have such… intemperate appetites." She directed a pointed look towards his midsection.

They sipped their drinks in silence for a time, Tom inordinately gratified when he saw her nibble at a cheese danish and some grapes. Halfway through his cup, he decided he'd have to make the first move.

But, not for the first time, Kathryn Janeway surprised him.

"How was the funeral?"

"Sad," he answered, unable to conceal a flash of pique from his voice.

"How's his family holding up?" Her own tone was even and controlled.

"They're grieving." He shrugged, trying to keep his irritation with her in check. "Tama is Tama. You could cut her arm off and she'd ask if you needed the other one. The kids are just in shock, I think. It happened so fast. Did you know Chepi is pregnant?"

"No," she murmured. "I didn't."

Tom thought he detected a slight quaver to her reply. _So she's not completely made of stone._ "She's heartbroken, that he won't get to meet her first son. But they have a lot of family and friends around them. They'll be OK." Tom sighed when he saw how her expression closed off once again. _Time to bring out the big guns._ "Annika decided to stay for a while. She didn't want Tama to be at the house alone. They've gotten close the last few years, with Annika's work taking her to Dorvan so often."

"I didn't realize." Janeway's eyes stayed locked on the sea. "I'm a bit surprised, honestly. Given Seven's history with Chakotay."

Tom snorted, thankful his coffee cup hadn't quite made it to his lips yet. "Please. That lasted about five minutes after we got home. Hell, _you_ and Annika were together longer than they were."

Another sip of coffee. "I should send Tama a note."

Tom nearly dropped his cup at that. He stared at her. "You're kidding, right?"

Janeway blinked at him. "I shouldn't send a note?"

He shook his head, staring at his coffee as he swirled his mug. He was a patient man, but everyone had their limits. "Why be so personal? It's only the widow of one of your oldest friends. Just send her a replicator file of a nice bouquet. The card can read 'I'm so sorry to hear about _Insert Name Here_ '. Hell, save it to send to B'Elanna for when I kick it. Two birds with one stone and all that."

Janeway had a well-deserved reputation as one of the most "hands-on" commanding officers in the 'Fleet. The way she would touch your hand or squeeze your shoulder or give you a literal pat on the back - when Janeway was pleased or excited, it's like she had no concept of personal space.

But what got less attention in the gossip feeds was how the woman used her physicality when you pissed her off. He'd seen his share of unruly crewmembers and alien leaders stride into _Voyager_ 's briefing room, considering her too small in stature and frame to be intimidating - only to leave with their tails firmly tucked between their legs, (quite literally in the case of the canine-like Wahya species who thought they could bully the captain into joining their trade war in year three). A look, a stance, the distance she created - Tom had seen many times how she could chill a room in seconds when she was angry.

She still had it. Tom had to tell himself to not squirm when he saw she was rising from her chair, a death grip on her cane.

"Thank you for the coffee. You can see yourself out?"

He almost laughed at how his heart had automatically began to pound. _She can't actually throw you in the brig anymore_ , he reminded himself. To Janeway, he said, "One major advantage of me leaving Starfleet is that you're no longer able to dismiss me when I hit a nerve."

"Who said you hit a nerve?" She was standing right at the windows now, her back to him. "Perhaps I just have something on my calendar."

It took a couple of tries, but he hauled himself out of the low-set rocker Janeway had directed him to. _Was that on purpose?_ he wondered. Did she specifically give him a chair that put him at a physical disadvantage compared to the well-cushioned but supportive Fauteuil she'd chosen for herself? He'd known her too long to think she'd give up any possible edge. He joined her at the window.

"Is that the same thing on your calendar that wouldn't let you come to Dorvan with us?"

"It's a long trip at my age."

He opened his mouth to speak, thinking he'd mention that it was also a long trip for Harry Kim - whose illness had recently robbed him of the ability to even stand for more than a few minutes at a time. Or perhaps he could bring up her post-retirement diplomatic mission to Bajor not even two months prior. But he didn't. It might have worked if he were Tuvok, but a reasoned stating of facts from Tom Paris wouldn't even touch her. She was the master of evasion - he'd never get anywhere that way.

He considered other absent friends and the ways they'd approach the problem of a reticent Kathryn Janeway. Neelix would have likely come up with some endearing Talaxian folktale or the like, somehow making her see the error of her ways all on her own. And Chakotay - he'd been king of the impassioned plea. But Tom rejected that as well - the last time he'd gone that route with Janeway had been Monea, and everyone knew how poorly that had turned out.

 _I guess I'm just going to have to wing it._

"Did you think we wouldn't notice?" he started, giving her a sidelong glance.

Janeway's lips thinned when she realized he wasn't letting this conversational ball drop. "Notice what?"

"At Tuvok's funeral, we assumed you kept your distance from the rest of us out of respect for his family. It's not like we could've held an Irish wake on Vulcan." Tom shoved his hands in his pockets. He noted how she hid her face in her mug as she took another long sip of coffee and regretted leaving his own beside that damn rocker. "But then, on New Talax, with Neelix's, it was even worse."

"Oh, just spit it out, Tom." Janeway finally turned to face him. "What do you mean by 'it was even worse'? What exactly are you accusing me of doing?"

"When was the last time you came to the house for dinner? Or had lunch with Annika? I talked to Naomi at the funeral and she says you haven't written to her in months." He rolled his eyes at the impassive look she continue to direct at him. "Has it occurred to you to ask me how my kids and grandkids are doing? Maybe ask how my wife's handling losing her oldest friend without even getting to say goodbye to him? Have you noticed that that was the first time you've called me 'Tom' since I got here?"

"I'm sorry," she replied, sounding anything but. "I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"For God's sake, Kathryn! You know that's not the point. What the hell is the matter with you?"

"The only thing the matter with me," she responded after a pause, her volume increasing with each word, "is that I'm being harassed by an interfering old man in my own damn house!"

"Finally!" he exclaimed, throwing his hand in the air. "A honest fucking reaction! It's a miracle!"

She moved away from him again, smacking her cane against the floor with each step. "I'm not in the mood for this, Tom. I didn't invite you, I haven't asked you for anything. Why did you even come?

"Because no one else is going to." He stepped closer to where she stood, put a hand on her shoulder as she had done so many times to him, those long-ago days on _Voyager_ 's bridge. "The Doc's afraid if he pushes you too hard you won't come to him for medical help. Harry's too sick. B'Elanna's too pissed. I'm probably going to get an earful just for coming here today." He sighed. "And Annika… I think she's just given up altogether." He peered over her shoulder, hoping she'd catch sight of the smile on his face. "But you know me - knock me down, I get right back up again. I don't give up easy."

If she did notice his smile, it certainly didn't have the desired effect. Her jaw tightened as she shrugged off his hand. "I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I don't need you to do it. I don't want you to do it. I should be allowed to grieve in my own way."

His shoulders drooped. "If I thought that's what you were doing, Kathryn, I wouldn't be here." He took a breath, waiting for her to respond, but the room stayed silent save for the muted sound of the ocean. "Can we at least sit down again? My feet are killing me."

She half-turned, gesturing silently back at the chairs that faced the windows. He limped back over, by-passing the diabolical rocker ( _Fuck that. She can sit there._ ) and taking the more structured chair Janeway had occupied before. She glared him at she lowered herself to sitting. Tom returned the look with interest, trying to channel his truculent wife. Pressing his advantage, he started again. "I know a little something about putting up walls. It's a surefire way to avoid being hurt."

"That's not what I'm doing."

"Could've fooled me."

"Not everyone needs the same things from life, you know." Janeway pushed her feet against the floor, pushing the chair slowly back and forth. "Not everyone needs the spouse and the children and the white picket fence."

"I realize that."

The rocking increased in speed. "I could have had it, if I wanted. With a half-dozen different people. I had other things I wanted to do. It was my choice, Tom."

"I know that, too." He reached across the narrow side table that lay between them and put an arm on the chair until it stilled. "But everyone needs a family. Everyone needs someone to spend the holidays with, or to take care of them when they're sick. Or look out for them when they're in a bad place. Even the indomitable Kathryn Janeway."

She said nothing. Just stared ahead at the steel grey ocean as it blended into the softer dove colored sky. Tom simply watched her, wanting to give her some mental space even if he was afraid to give it to her in a physical sense. When the first tear started to track down her cheek, though, he couldn't stop himself from responding.

Tom pushed himself upright and crossed to the front of the rocker. Fully realizing he was going to regret this action in about ten minutes, he lowered himself onto one knee in front of his old captain and took her hands in his. "I know I'm not Tuvok or Neelix. I know I'm not Chakotay. But I'm here, Kathryn. Some of us are still here."

He thought she might break down at that, allow herself the release Tom thought she needed. But she was still Kathryn Janeway. She was the still the woman who faced the Kazon and the Hirogen and the Borg Queen. She was still the woman that traveled back in time to give her crew a better life. ( _Or is she?_ he wondered. _God, I hate temporal mechanics._ ). So no cathartic sobbing from her. But she didn't pull her hands from his and, in fact, squeezed them tightly, pulling them closer to her body. Tom thought maybe that was enough.

"I don't want to lose any more people, Tom," she said after a time, still focused on their clasped hands, her voice rough and low . "I'm tired of losing people."

"Well," he said, trying to shift some weight off his creaky knee, "there's not much I can do to stop the losing people part. But there's no reason to rush things. There's no reason to make us lose you before we have to."

She looked up at him then, her eyes reddened but dry, and nodded. "Fair enough." Her brows drew together. "Now how the hell are we going to get you off the floor?"

Tom almost laughed aloud. All this for two lousy words. His humor became a grunt of pain as he tried to push to standing. "I'm not sure we are. You might need to call Starfleet for an emergency beam out." He shifted his weight until he fell onto his left hip. "God, we're old."

"Speak for yourself," she replied as she rose from the rocking chair (a lot more easily than he'd done it, he noticed). Tom heard the sound of furniture sliding across the floor. He looked up to see her smirking, having pushed the other chair closer to him so he could use it to get up.

Which he did - with no little effort. They refilled their mugs and meandered back down the hallway together - Janeway marveling at Tom's kids and grandkids as they compared old photos to current ones, Tom pointing at the newly prominent photo of his old command team and asking her what Chakotay could have possibly said that was so damn funny.

Though the clouds had begun to clear, the sky was darkening towards twilight when they finally made their way back to the front door. "B'Elanna's going to send out a search party soon," Janeway chided him. "You should have told her where you were going."

"Oh, I'm sure she's figured it out by now. After fifty years, it's hard to surprise her anymore," he said as he shrugged on his coat. He paused with his hand on the door, wondering if he had the nerve to ask the one question he never had. _Ah, fuck it. Seize the day, Paris. There aren't that many of them left._ "But before I go, there's one thing I've always wanted to ask you."

Janeway's eyes narrowed. She was already suspicious. "Go ahead."

"All that time out there in the Delta Quadrant. You and Chakotay. Did you ever…?" He waggled his eyebrows at her.

Given her dependence on the cane, she couldn't put both of her hands on her hips anymore. But even one still had quite an effect. "I was the captain. It would have been inappropriate for me to engage in a romantic or sexual relationship with anyone under my command."

He leaned in. "You didn't answer the question."

"I gave you as much of an answer as I'm planning to. Now go home to your wife." She reached for the door handle.

But Tom put his hand on hers before she could grab it. "Oh, come on! You can't tell me that I'm the only member of the crew you hooked up with in seven years?"

The look of shock on her face was priceless. _It's a real shame Harry isn't here to see this._

"Excuse me, Mr. Paris?"

He arranged his features into an expression of hurt disappointment. "I thought we were done with the Mr. Paris bit. But more importantly, Kathryn, how could you forget our children?"

She rolled her eyes and opened the door. "Time to go, Tom."

"Throw a guy a bone here!" he exclaimed as he refused to move past the open doorway. "Nothing happened between you and Chakotay even once? Not even the time we left you two alone on that planet?"

Janeway put her hand on his chest and pushed - not with much force, but she clearly wasn't backing down. "A lady never reveals her secrets. At this point, anything that happened on New Earth is going to stay between me and the monkey."

Tom had started to back out of the doorway, but he stopped at that. "Wait, there was a monkey? You can't just leave me hanging like this!"

"Goodbye, Tom."

=/\=

"Stop giggling!"

Tom tried desperately to change his expression to one of appropriate solemnity, but it wasn't happening. He only started to laugh harder. "I'm sorry," he gasped out between chuckles. "It's just… the claw hands! I feel ridiculous."

B'Elanna paused in the middle of _QeH vIghro'_ pose and sighed. "No one is forcing you to do this, you know."

They were practicing _Mok'bara_ in the grassy area behind their home, the afternoon being an unusually bright and sunny one for San Francisco. B'Elanna had taken up the ancient Klingon martial art form some years prior, having found her previous workout routine too strenuous once she passed sixty. About a month ago, Tom had started the practice as well - somewhat under duress.

"You were the one who told me walking the dog wasn't enough exercise." Lonzak, the dog in question, jumped up at the "W" word, but Tom waved him back down. He gave a deep canine sigh of disappointment as he settled back into the mulch under the rose bushes.

"You were given other options," his wife reminded him as she lifted her arms into _sor_.

"Yoga with the Doc?" Tom exclaimed, trying, and failing, to imitate her. "That hardly counts as an option." He grinned as she bent her knees into a deep lunge. Maybe he was biased, but in his eyes, the woman didn't look a day over forty. "Besides, the view here is pretty nice."

"Why do I keep you around again?" She passed him a dark look over her shoulder as she straightened her legs and bent forward from the hips into _tuj targh_.

"My charm?" he grunted, stretching his arms towards the ground. "My boyish good loo-" He interrupted himself with a startled yelp, falling hard onto his side when he attempted to raise his left leg off the grass. Lonzak was on him immediately.

"Get off!" he cried, trying in vain to ward off the doggy facial he was receiving. "Bad dog!"

B'Elanna was laughing when she finally managed to pull the hound off him. "You OK?" she asked, her hand extended towards him.

"Fine," Tom grumbled, wiping at his face as he sat up. "Just damp." He aimed a finger at the dog. "Next time, you're staying inside with Harry."

Lonzak simply wagged his tail in response, then suddenly froze, his ears perked. Before either Tom or B'Elanna could react, he charged towards the garden gate, his resonant bay sounding the alarm. The gate creaked open a sliver. "Sit, Lonzak!" a firm voice commanded.

Lonzak sat. Not even a willful bluetick coonhound ignored a direct order from Kathryn Janeway.

She peered through the opening, raising an eyebrow at the married couple in their matching _Mok'bara_ uniforms, Tom's now marked with grass stains. "Why do you keep ending up on the ground, Tom? I'm beginning to think you need this," she gestured with her cane, "more than I do."

"You're early," Tom replied with a grin as he climbed to his feet. "I fully planned on being upright again twenty minutes from now."

Janeway came into the yard and gave B'Elanna a tight hug, murmuring an apology for missing the funeral and not visiting sooner. Tom, on the other hand, got a wry look and quiet thanks as she let his arm sub in for her cane as they moved into the house. Once B'Elanna ensured their old captain was planning on extending her visit into dinner, Tom took her to Harry's room.

"He had kind of a rough morning, actually," Tom said with a grimace. "He gets these back spasms, it makes it hard for him to even sit up."

Janeway's brow furrowed. "Is it a bad time to visit? Maybe I should come back another day?"

Tom shook his head in reply. "It'll be all right. The nurse just finished his treatment an hour ago, he'll be good right now. Besides, he's been looking forward to seeing you all week."

He rapped lightly against the wooden door and pushed it open a crack. "Hey, Har? You up? Kathryn's here."

"Admiral?"

Tom pushed the door open the rest of the way. Harry had had the nurse open the curtains, which was a good sign. On his worst days, which were thankfully still few and far between, even dim light could cause a migraine. Tom stepped out of the way so Janeway could enter.

"If you're going to insist on calling me 'Admiral,' Harry," she said by way of greeting, the taps of her cane punctuating her words, "I'm going to have to call you 'Captain.'"

Harry's face broke into a broad grin from where he reclined in the daybed by the window.

Tom lingered just outside the doorway, smiling at the sound of Harry's laugh as Janeway shared the latest 'Fleet gossip. He didn't mean to eavesdrop - hell, he didn't even know half the people they were talking about anymore - but he found it reassuring to hear their voices. After a time, he turned at the sound of footsteps padding across the floor, B'Elanna having come to see what they'd gotten themselves up to. Tom pulled his wife under his arm and they stayed wrapped together, reveling in how two of the most far-wandering members of their family could still take comfort in each other's company.

 **The End**


End file.
